


Kodachrome

by Hecallsmehischild



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Burns, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 18:18:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5100848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hecallsmehischild/pseuds/Hecallsmehischild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glass Shards Beach isn't exactly known for its heart-stopping mysterious happenings. But when Fiddleford turns up with mysterious patterned burns, it's up to the original Pines twins to figure out what's going on and who's hurting their friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Case Scenario

Nighttime settled hot and muggy over Glass Shard Beach. By day, summer was bad enough. Without the sun to zap the humidity out of the air, night got to be pretty miserable for any land-dweller without a decent AC unit.

The Pines family was fortunate enough to have a decent AC unit. The Pines family, however, was not fortunate enough to have more than one, and that unit resided in the living room. It spat gusts of sweet, cool air to the perpetually unimpressed Mr. Pines as he judged the local sports team on his TV set.

Any science nerd would be able to tell you that heat rises, and so it was that the twin progeny of Mr. and Mrs. Pines tossed and turned in their attic room, trying to find a position that wouldn't leave them sticky, drenched, and miserable by morning. Even with their single window flung wide open and the screen popped out, this was proving to be a difficult task.

One flopped on his side for the ninth time, glaring down from the top bunk. "Poindexter, can't you geek us a fixit for this stupid heat?"

"I can't 'fix' the whole climate of Glass Shard Beach, knucklehead. If you quit whining I have a 40% better chance of falling asleep."

"But it's hot, and there's not even a wind! Your hands are a whole finger bigger, use 'em and fan me to sleep."

"Lee, I swear, if you don't shut up-"

"C'mon, what else are giant hands good for than to fan brothers dying of heat?"

"I don't have giant hands! I just have extra fingers, and I'm dying just as much as you, so shut up already."

Grumbling, Stanley rolled back over, wriggling on the mattress to find a comfy spot.

"Lee, really."

"I can't help it if the mattress squeaks, okay? You picked the lumpy one so I got the squeaky one."

"Can't you just pick a spot?"

"Can _you_?"

A sigh was his only answer, and he finally settled into a promising position.

"Stanley, if you can't quit shifting, I'll superglue the electric blanket to your mattress and turn it on full blast!"

"I'm not moving anymore!"

"Well then what's the noise?"

Stanley frowned, craning his head to listen. "Aw man, it's Fiddleford."

"Again? It's the third time this week. What do you think's going on?"

"I dunno, poindexter, but if it takes stuffing a pillow down his throat to get a better night's sleep, I'll do it." Stanley rolled off the mattress and climbed down the ladder, dragging his sheet over to the window.

"Hey knucklehead, wait up!" Stanford catapulted after him. "Somebody's gotta make sure you hold back, yeah? Fiddleford's one of us."

"And right now he's getting on my last nerve!" Stanley pulled the sheet through the knothole in the windowsill, tying a knot tight and jerking it a couple times. "Wait a few seconds and come after."

"Yeah yeah, same drill, I got this."

"Look, I'm the oldest, I gotta watch out for you." Stanley winked, sliding down the sheet.

"By two minutes!" Stanford hissed after him, counting off a few seconds before following.

The McGucket household was on top of their belgian waffle business. It was right next door to the Pines home, which perched over their pawn shop. The waffle-house was a squat, ugly affair with a collapsing front porch and a paintjob that refused to stay stuck to the walls. A trellis leaned against the front of the building, providing easy access to the second floor. Fiddleford's room was at the corner and had two windows that would let in a fantastic cross-breeze in the event of any air flow. These windows, like every other pane of glass on the block, were flung wide, allowing easy entry for the twins.

Stanley thumped in over the sill as Stanford carefully lowered himself to the ground. Both boys trained their eyes on the bed, where their friend lay in a tangle of sheets, whimpering and screeching incoherently, sounding quite a bit like Stanley's mattress at three times the volume.

Stanford glanced to Stanley, who sighed and bit his lip. It was hard to hold onto irritation when their friend was being so pathetic. Stanley crossed the room, grabbing Fiddleford by the shoulders and shaking him. "Hey! Snap outta this! You're wakin' the whole street!"

Fiddleford's eyes flew open, and he latched onto Stanley's arms, his eyes darting around. "Beware the eyes! No, eye! Eye, sees all!"

Stanford snatched a glass of water off the bedside table and dumped it over his friend's head. Stunned, Fiddleford blinked, slowly coming to focus. "St-Stanley? Stanford? What…"

"Seriously, this what all the screeching's about?" Stanley demanded. "Third night, Fiddleford. Third. Night. What's'a'matter, you watch a scary movie or somethin'?"

"You know I don't do that!" Fiddleford pulled the blankets up to his chest.

Stanford stared at him. "Hey, it's like, 98 degrees right now, what's with the quilt?"

"Nothing! No reason!" Fiddleford swallowed, eyes darting to the window. "You sh-should go."

"Check it, full-on flannels too!" Stanley ripped off the blankets to reveal Fiddleford's full-length pajamas. "Are you some kind of sweatless mutant or somethin'? I'd be dead if I was in those now!"

"I'm fine, I just drink a lot of water. See you guys tomorrow, okay?" Fiddleford pleaded. "I just wanna go back to sleep."

The twins' eyes narrowed. They glanced at each other a moment. Stanford gave a small nod.

Fiddleford's eyes widened. "Wait, guys-"

Stanley pounced, hauling Fiddleford out of bed and bending his arms back into armlock.

"Guys, no, it's not like that, please!" He yelped, squirming in Stanley's grip. "I didn't, I don't do that anymore, not since Christmas, you gotta believe me!"

"Yeah, we will, once we get a look." Stanford rolled up Fiddleford's pajama legs, inspecting them carefully. "Didn't think about it, but you've been wearing sweaters to school this week."

"Yeah, I remember now," Stanley confirmed. "Gotten quiet again too. Is it those beef-armed jerks again? Talk!"

"No, please just let g-go!" Fiddleford squirmed harder as Stanford reached for his sleeves, rolling them back.

"Stanley…" Stanford lifted Fiddleford's bared arm. Dark marks lined his skin, tracing a strange pattern that disappeared under his pajama sleeve.

"I didn't do it this time!" Fiddleford pleaded, shaking. "You gotta believe me, don't tell my parents! I didn't do this, I don't know how it's happening!"

"Does it hurt?" Stanford demanded. At Fiddleford's nod, Stanley released him. "What's going on? And why didn't you tell us?"

Fiddleford pulled his sleeves down, keeping his eyes on the ground. "Was afraid you'd tell again. I don't wanna go back, guys…"

The twins fell silent, each finding something interesting in the room to stare at.

It was Stanley who finally broke the silence. "Okay. So you're not doin' this to yourself. I don't think you have the guts for burns. How's about you take the shirt off and we see what we're dealing with? And tell us what in Glass Shards is makin' you screech so loud at night."


	2. Third Degree

"D'ya really believe him, Lee? What he's talkin' about, stuff like that just doesn't happen."

Stanley rifled through his locker, shoving aside dirty gymwear and stinking lunchbags. One or two textbooks with bite marks all over the covers tumbled to the ground. "Sure it don't. I ain't arguing that. But I also ain't arguing Fiddle was scared outta his mind last night. Last time there was a problem he jus' looked guilty."

"Whatever's goin' on, there's not a lot we can do." Stanford pulled up closer to his brother, lowering his voice. "We're only ten, Lee. We gotta go tell the police, or his parents. They'll know what ta do."

Ford snorted. "Oh, yeah, good thinking, Poindexter. What good did it do him last time when he really _was_ markin' up his arms? Vanished for a month. Came back so shaky he could barely talk. We just busted him outta that shell, I ain't losin' him back inside it now. We don't got many friends around here, we look after the ones we have."

"How are we supposed to figure out what's goin' on if he doesn't even know?"

"That's your job. You and your smarts get us everywhere. Ah! Gotcha." He withdrew a blocky camera triumphantly. "I knew I had it stashed away somewhere safe."

"Define safe," Ford held his nose as a rotten banana splattered to the ground.

Lee shut his locker and hurried down the empty hall. No self-respecting kid would be caught dead indoors during lunch, Summer School or no. Well, none but them. "C'mon, Fiddle said he'd meet us behind the dumpsters. Let's get ol' Kodachrome back in action!"

Both of them headed into the boy's bathroom, dragging the trash can over to the window and clambering through. They slipped down, one at a time, on top of the dumpster in the alley behind the school, then climbed down the side to the ground.

Three makeshift seats stood in a tight little circle. They'd dragged old cinderblocks back and stood them on their ends to make a meeting area. Fiddleford was already sitting on one, staring unenthusiastically at the waffle sandwich on his lap. He was dressed in an ugly orange turtleneck that was probably visible from space.

"Hey diddle-diddle!" Lee greeted.

"The cat and the fiddle!" Ford added.

"The cow jumped over the moon." Fiddleford completed the password with a sigh, holding his sandwich out to Ford. "Not hungry today."

"I'm starved!" Lee shoved the camera at Ford and grabbed the sandwich, ripping into it. "Oh man, your mom makes the best."

Ford rolled his eyes, lifting his camera. "Okay, so we brought the camera. It's got a few photos left on the roll. You ready?"

Fiddleford looked down, shivering. "I dunno, guys. You sure nobody else is gonna see this? What about the film guy?"

"Leave that to me." Lee wiped his mouth, the sandwich already gone. "All I gotta do is tell 'im we drew all over Fiddleford when he was sleepin'. Nuttin' to it. C'mon now, we gotta have pics to look at so Poindexter can figure what's goin' on."

Reluctantly, Fiddleford grabbed the bottom of his sweater and pulled it off over his head.

"Whoah!" Ford gawped. "Lookit that…"

The marks went far beyond Fiddleford's arms, tracing all the way up to his shoulders and across his chest and stomach. He turned around slowly, revealing the continuation all over his back and shoulderblades.

"And this started last week?" Ford asked as Lee took the camera, raising it.

"Yeah. Got bigger after every nightmare. Last night's the first time it didn't get bigger. Maybe it's done growin'."

"Don' worry, Fiddle. Whatever it is, my brother's got the smarts to tell us. I bet you we get the mystery solved by lunch tomorrow."

"Lee, don't go promisin' that. We don't know." Ford grabbed Fiddle's hand, studying his arm. "Didja put anythin' on 'em?"

"Too scared someone's gonna walk in on me in the bathroom at home." Fiddle licked his lips nervously. "Doesn't hurt so bad if I don't think 'bout it. Or bump anything."

"No good, Fiddleford. Hey Knucklehead, snap the rest of the roll. I'mma raid the nurse's station."

"Careful, Poindexter," Lee teased. "You're gonna turn into me an' ruin that clean record if you're not careful."

"Aw shaddup." Ford latched onto the side of the dumpster and climbed back up, heading for the bathroom window.

Lee rolled his eyes, taking one more shot of Fiddle's chest before checking the roll. "That's all of 'em. Don't worry, Fiddle. Ford's practically a doctor already. He's better at puttin' bandaids on than Mom. He'll fix ya right up."

"Great." Fiddle swallowed. "Can I put my sweater back on now?"

"Sure. Knock yerself out. Seriously, how come ya don't sweat?"

"I dunno." Fiddle pulled his sweater back on. "Not that hot, I guess."

It was Lee's turn to gawp. "Not that hot? I'm swimmin' in a sweat puddle every time I try ta sleep an' you think it's not that hot?"

Fiddleford dropped his head, his shoulders hunching up to his ears. "I dunno what's goin' on, okay? I know I'm s'posed ta be drippin'. I'm just not. All kinds'a weird stuff's goin' on, it's not my fault."

"What kinda other weird stuff?" Lee pulled up a cinderblock.

"The nightmares, never had 'em before. Can't remember most of 'em, but I wake up thinkin' brick walls are really scary."

Lee guffawed. "Brick walls? What kinda scary dream is about brick walls?"

"Maybe it's not about brick walls. Maybe it's somethin' that looks like it, I dunno. I can't remember." Fiddleford kneaded his jeans.

"We talkin' 'bout his dreams?" Ford hopped down from the top of the dumpster, landing with an _oomph_. "You woke up yellin' something about eyes. Does that help?"

"Did the nurse see ya?" Lee asked, grabbing the bag Ford had tied to his belt loop.

"Nah, she's too busy readin' some Fabio book an' sighing. Gimme that." He grabbed it back, turning to Fiddleford. "Shirt off!"

Fiddle pulled off his sweater again as Ford laid out a couple tubes. "Wasn't sure what you get for real bad burns, but it says it's s'posed ta help with sunburns. Hold still. So, what about eyes?"

Grimacing, Fiddle braced himself as Ford applied the cream. "I dunno, eyes don't bother me."

"You said they see all, or somethin' like that."

"Nah, he said the Eye sees all, like one," Lee corrected.

Fiddle's back stiffened, his mouth hanging open slightly. "I… eye… one eye… yeah, that's scary too."

"So you're having dreams about a brick wall with one eye? Sounds real lame. That and these etch-a-sketch marks are all we got to figure out what's goin' on?" Lee sighed, idly clicking the camera's button. "Not a lot, Fiddle."

"But you gotta help! I can't keep all covered up all'a time, someone's gonna find out, an' they'll send me back to the loony bin!"

"Not gonna happen." Lee hooked the camera strap around his neck. "I just said it's not a lot. Don't worry. We'll figure somethin' outta this mess. But first thing's first, gotta get the photos. Come over to our room t'morrow, we'll see what we got."


	3. Silver Tongues

" 'Ey, Knucklehead! Wake up, I got it!"

Lee jerked awake, gasping, "I di'n't do it, Ma! I swear! OW!" He banged his forehead against the ceiling, groaning. "Poindexter! Warn me next time you're gonna wake me up like that!"

"Bro, get down here! You're not gonna b'lieve it!"

Grumbling, Lee slipped down with a loud _thunk_ from the top bunk. "This better be good. Did you figure out how ta turn broccoli into pizza or somethin'?"

"Better!" Ford rushed over, holding a dozen or so paper squares taped together in a mishmash. "Look, what's Fiddle's burn look like?"

Lee squinted, rubbing his eyes. "When ya put it like that…. Lotsa squiggles an' lines. Some kinnergardener drawin' a sick horse."

"C'mon, Lee! Even you know this one! Just look at it a second! Mebbe take a few steps back." Ford hopped back a bit, his grin threatening to split his face.

Blearily, Lee peered at the patchwork lines with their weird, animalish outline and off-kilter drunk-lined boxes that didn't even meet right at any corner- "Holy shardgulls! Ford, it's 'merica!"

"It's a map! Somebody's been drawin' a map all over Fiddleford! An' look here," Ford paused just long enough to point to a spot. "There's a big ol' triangle here!"

Lee whistled. "Dang, Ford. Poindexter pulled it off again! But that's a ways away. I bet you we'd have to walk all night to get to…" he squinted at the map. "That's California, right?"

"Oregon, actually. It's gonna take more walkin' than that. We're gonna hafta do better."

Fully awake now, Lee beamed at his twin. "You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?"

"Only about ten seconds sooner, but absolutely. Think you can scam Ma an' Pops?"

"Pops fer sure. Ma's gonna be harder." Lee cracked his neck. "But ain't nothing I can't handle. You break the news to Fiddle, he's gonna wet himself an' you're better talkin' ta scaredy cats."

"You got it." Ford folded up the photo map and headed for the door. "Seeya later, shardigator!"

"In a while, glassodile!"

….

"You're crazy!" Fiddleford shrieked. "Oregon? _Oregon?_ Do you have any idea how far that is? How're we s'posed ta get there? Who's gonna drive us that won't think we're crazy? I'm not goin' back, Ford! You promised!"

"You're not goin' back, calm down. Look, you gotta see it too. There's nuttin' else it could be." Ford draped the makeshift map over Fiddle's bed. "It's 'merica, plain as day, and it says go to Oregon."

" _Where_ in Oregon? Why? What are we gonna find there?"

"Where's a good question, Fiddle. Ya got any new marks overnight?"

Fiddleford swallowed. "I… I don' wanna look."

"Welp, then I guess we're goin' ta Oregon an' we'll just walk 'roundabouts where the triangle is 'til we find somethin' weird."

"We can't get there anyhow! Mom an' Dad won't let me!"

"Sure they will. My Ma's gonna call any minnit now an' tell _your_ Ma 'bout the free camp in Oregon you should go to."

"What free camp?"

Ford grinned. "The one Lee's makin' up. By the time he's through with our parents, we'll have three bus tickets, a li'l bit of spendin' money, an' one week in Oregon to figure out why you're all marked up."

Fiddleford fidgeted with his sleeves. "I don' like it. This is goin' too far. Where we gonna stay if there ain't no camp?"

"Out in the woods like the pioneers, 'course. Make sure to pack lotsa warm stuff an' food."

"This is crazy. Crazy." Fiddle chewed on the sleeve of his sweater. "Ain't no way this is gonna work."

"Yeah, you tell me that when yer Ma hands you a bus ticket. Meantime, new marks, yes or no?"

Reluctantly, Fiddleford raised the sweater over his head, wincing. Most of the burns looked a little better for the burn cream they'd used on him, but there was a fresh mark by the triangle. Two, to be precise. Two letters charred into his skin.

"Gee Eff. What's that stand fer?"

"Got me, you're the ones figurin' this all out." He pulled his sweater back down. "Still don't think Mom's gonna let me go."

"Then you don't know Lee." Ford clapped a hand on Fiddle's shoulder, yanking his hand back at his friend's cry of pain. "Sorry! Sorry. I forgot. I think Ma's got somethin' in medbox. I'll bring it when we go." He made a beeline for the window. "Be ready, Fiddle. An' don' chicken out! We got this for ya. It'll be a piece'a pie!"

…..

"Don't be stupid, kiddo, nothin's fer free."

"I know, Ma, that's just what I said." Lee pulled a dour face. "Too good ta be true, I said. Some highfalutin' scam. But then I took another look at the flyer, and whaddayaknow?" He held up a crudely drawn camp flyer. The word "Free!" was written on it several times inside big yellow stars. "There's no way it's a scam. Think about it, Ma. Scams would at least spend a few bucks ta make a pro-lookin' flyer to sucker in more bozos. This looks jus' like what a free camp would do. Get one'a their kids to make it."

Mrs. Pines took the flyer, eyeing it suspiciously. "Good eye, kiddo. But there's always a catch."

"Yeah, jus' one. They don' pay fer us ta get there."

"Hah, I knew it."

"But Ma, it's free. A whole week. They feed us, house us, and put up with our yellin' an' screamin' fer a whole week."

She shifted, rubbing her thumb over the waxy paper thoughtfully. "Whole week," she muttered. "Just a bus ticket?"

Lee shrugged. "An' mebbe ten bucks each ta get us through."

"Ten? Yer mental. Two bucks is more'n enough."

"Aw, Ma! What'll we get with that, a t-shirt? C'mon, eight."

"Get off it, Kid. When I was your age, two was a fortune! Four bucks.

"A whole week to yerself! That's gotta be worth at least six."

Mrs. Pines ground her teeth. "Ya got moxie, Stanly. Five bucks, take it or leave it."

"Thanks, Ma!" Lee hugged her waist. "Five bucks says you won't regret it."

Mrs. Pines chuckled. "I'll take that bet and my five bucks back from each'a you if you make me lift so much as a finger for ya."

"Done! So gimme twenty for me an' Ford, and-"

"Whoah, whoah, whoah. Kid, who said anything about a _twenty_?"


	4. Go Round and Round

"What'd I tell ya? Three open ended bus tickets outa this heatsink." Lee stretched grandly in the back of the trembly old bus, yawning so wide his jaw cracked. "Piece a' cake."

"Yeah, yeah Knucklehead. We get it, great job." Ford rolled his eyes, making a disgusted face at Fiddleford. "You're the hero of the day, yadda yadda yadda."

"Let's not be forgettin' ten bucks each. I got Ma up to _ten bucks each_. Fiddle, what'd your folks give ya?"

"Um. I. Um." Fiddleford swallowed, and Lee's face heated up.

"Look, t'ain't no secret yer folks make out better'n ours. Whatever ya got, it'll help all'a us," Ford patted Fiddle's arm. "Whatcha got?"

"Twenny," Fiddle mumbled, and Lee just about choked on his gum.

"Twenny!" Lee croaked. "I'd hafta hogtie Ma before I even started _thinkin'_ 'bout askin' her for twenny a-piece! That's thirty dollars!"

"Forty," Ford corrected.

"Forty dollars!"

"But it's jus' me, so jus' twenny," Fiddle shrank into his seat. "M'sorry."

"Don' be sorry, Fiddle." Ford patted him gently on the back, about where Texas had been drawn so he didn't hit a burn line. "Lee's jus' a little sour. We got forty for all'a us now, I think we'll be good. Ya brought food an' sleepin' gear?"

"All I could find."

"Good. Lee, you brought the rest?"

"Enough comic books ta get us through ten car trips."

"Good stuff, Lee. Jus' one more thing. B'fore we get into the comic books, we gotta figure out where we're goin'. I stoled a book from the library, it's got a big ol' map of Oregon." He pulled a book from his backpack and spread it open. One area had been marked up in pencil. "See here? This part, this is where Fiddle's G F burn is. Now, we gotta find a place here that starts with G and F. Everybody start lookin'!"

"Is, is that it there?" Fiddle pointed to a name on the map. "Gravity Falls?"

Ford and Lee peered at the section.

"Welp." Lee leaned back, yanking out a comic book, "That didn't take long. I don' see any other places startin' with G and F."

"Me neither," Ford scratched his head. "Guess I better tell the driver."

…..

"Four days!"

"Yeah, I got that, Lee."

"Four. Bubblin'. Days. My comics di'n't even last us halfway here! An' we'll have the same time goin' back! I was gonna start beggin' fer a colorin' book an' crayons if it gone on much longer!"

"I got all our reports done," Fiddle offered meekly. "We'll hand 'em in to the teachers when we're back an' they won't mark us down fer bein' gone."

"He wrote _three reports_ , Ford! That's how long! I'm gonna go bats!"

"Ya'll can shaddup now, we're here," Ford muttered, stumbling off the bus and stretching. "Gulls, I feel like an old man. Everything's crackin' when I move. Fiddle, got all yer gear?"

"I got my backpack, just gotta get the stuff from below." Fiddle headed around the bus for the luggage compartment.

"Okay wiseguy, now we're here in Gravity Falls. Now what're we gonna do?" Lee stretched mightily, setting off a string of joint crackings like popcorn over a campfire.

"Well, it's nighttime. I say we find a comfy spot an' roll out the sleepin' bags. Bound somethin's comin' to us in the mornin'."

"Yeah, an' just where we gonna roll out? Fiddle's been good on the bus, but only 'cause we barely got sleep on it. What if he starts yellin' at crazy dreams again?"

"Hate ta say it, Lee, but that might be what we need ta have happen. Someone's drawin' clues on him, an' the last clue we had was the name a' this place. We need more if'n we're gonna figure this out."

Lee frowned. "I don' like it, Poindexter. We're s'posed ta be protectin' him from whatever this is, not lettin' it burn 'im more."

"I don' like it either, Lee. But what else we gonna do?"

Lee sighed. "Ya got Ma's cream for him, right?"

"Yeah. I got it."

"Alright. I'll go scout us out a spot. But get us somethin' good fer dinner. I'm sick'a PB&J. Four days straight, Ford. I need somethin' meatier."

They bumped knuckles and parted, Lee headed in the direction of a promising looking forest, and Ford headed around to help Fiddle unload.

An hour later, Lee returned, calling he'd found a sweet spot. Fiddle and Lee loaded all the bags they could carry, while Ford held the three boxes of food he'd gotten from the local cafe, Greasy's Diner.

"You're not gonna believe it," he chuckled, leading them away from town, "Just not gonna believe what I found. Forget stayin' in the woods, this is perfect!"

A half-hour's walk led them to the porch of a sagging, run down, rickety old shack. The windows were cracked and the boarding was warped and buckled. Several roof shingles were missing, and dangerously large piles of scat lay heaped here and there around the property, but Lee walked up to it, beaming like he'd discovered Atlantis.

"See, what'd I tell ya? Not just some clearin' in the woods, we got us our own shack!"

"Lee, you sure 'bout this?" Ford bit his lip. "What if it's somebody's?"

Lee scoffed. "Get real, Poindexter. Lookit this place, nobody's been here in ages. Door even says so." Lee swung the door open, the ensuing hinge shriek scaring three flocks of birds into flight. "C'mon, this'll keep us dry if'n it rains and safe from bears an' stuff. We got us our very own house!"

"I, I like the idea of no bears," Fiddle piped up.

"There ya go, Fiddle's on board. Whaddaya say, Poindexter?"

Ford shrugged. "A'ight, Lee. Good find. But it's late, let's unpack an' get some shuteye. No tellin' what we're gonna find out t'morrow."


	5. Bounty Punters

Ford grunted, wrinkling his nose and turning his head away. Something soft and feathery brushed his upper lip and nose. "Knockitoff, Lee. Tryin'a sleep here."

"How 'bout you stop first," came a grumble from across the room. "I'mma sleep another two hours at least or I'm gonna-FOOOOOORD!"

Lee's voice pitched up into a squeal, startling Ford upright. Something weighty slid off his chest and onto his lap. Glancing down, he caught sight of a pudgy little body and a red cap diving over the side of the cot he'd picked the night before.

"Hey!" Ford rolled off the cot, sprawling on top of the-gnome? "Just where d'ya think you're going?"

"Shmebulock!" The gnome wriggled, dropping a feather and digging grimy little fingernails into Ford's side.

"Help! Lee! Ford! Do somethin'!"

Ford glanced up, his gnome taking the opportunity to break free and scamper toward Fiddleford. Fiddle was mummywrapped in blankets, being dragged out the door by no less than ten gnomes. One stood on Fiddle's chest, shouting orders to the others.

Lee crashed to the ground, using three of the five words that usually got him paddled. His blankets had been knotted from his ankles to the cot. He couldn't help. Ford darted after Fiddle, grabbing the extra gnome off Fiddle's chest and staggering out onto the porch. The thing was built like a brick and squirmed like a wet cat.

"Let go!" The gnome shouted, throwing fists uselessly. "I'm warning you! I've got fairy dust, I'll use it!"

"Tell 'em to let go of my friend," Ford growled, keeping a firm grip. The group holding Fiddle had stopped on the stairs, looking to the gnome Ford held. "You're the boss around here, I can tell. Tell 'em to drop!"

"Or what?" the gnome sneered. "I could just tell 'em to beat you up and go back to what they were doing. How 'bout that, boys?"

A couple of the gnomes grinned and began to set Fiddleford down.

"Or I'll go kick you off the roof!" Ford staggered toward the door, panting. What did these things eat, lead?

The gnome laughed as his henchmen blocked the door. "Yeah, sure. You're barely holding on as it is. Boys, let's show him what gnomes-" he stopped as Lee came barrelling out, punting a gnome several yards with one kick.

"Shmebuloooooooock!" it cried as it crashed into the forest underbrush.

"Alright, which one 'a you redcapped footballs is next?" Lee growled. "Somethin' tells me it's you!" He pointed to the gnome Ford held. "My brother wouldn't'a picked you to hold if'n there weren't a reason. Wanna try flyin'?"

The gnome balked, waving his arms frantically. "Brothers, leave him! Retreat to the forest for another day!"

The gnomes scampered toward the treeline, tripping over each other to be the first away.

"They are gone, now release me!" The gnome demanded.

"Not so fast." Ford handed the gnome to Lee, who grabbed him and tossed him in the air, catching him like a baseball. "You're gonna tell us a few things first, like, what tha heck you want Fiddleford fer! Was it you what's been drawin' on him inn'is sleep?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" The gnome squealed, wriggling. "I don't draw, and who wouldn't try? With that big a reward out!"

"Reward?" Lee shot Ford a worried look. "What's this crazy talk? Fess up!"

"The whole forest knows!" The gnome blubbered. "Get the squealy one with burns, get the sixer. One wish, any kind!"

Ford's eyes narrowed. Someone wanted Fiddleford _and_ him? But not Lee? "Who's offerin'?"

"Can't say, you can't make me! I won't!" The gnome chomped down on Lee's arm. Lee howled, dropping the little man who charged at the treeline like his life depended on it.

Ford knelt by Fiddleford, tugging at the viciously tight blanket folds. "Nevermind him. Good goin', Lee. What took ya so long?"

"Stupid tiny little knots," Lee muttered. "Had ta rip through 'em. Don't s'pose you'll do mine next?" He pointed to the torn blanket still knotted around his ankle.

"Sure thing. Hey, Fiddle?" Ford pulled the blankets open. His friend trembled like a teacup pup under the blankets. "It's okay, we gotcha. Ain't nobody stealin' you away."

"You heard 'em," Fiddle squeaked, "They'll be back. An' what else around here, Ford? They're comin' fer me an' you! We gotta go home, tell our parents we're sorry. I'll just wear sweaters 'til it goes away, I'll be fine!"

"No good, runt." Lee reached down, hauling Fiddle to his feet. "C'mon. You go back, you'll just end up with more'a the same, an' mebbe they'll find out and send you back you-know-where. I'm not gonna stand by an' watch it happen again, y'hear me?" He glanced over. "Ford, you with me?"

"With you," Ford nodded. "Whatever wants us got us here real 'specially, an' if we don't figure out why, it'll just keep goin'. Whatever happens, we go everywhere t'gether now. They don' want Lee fer some reason, so Lee, you gotta stay close."

"Roger roger."

"Are you both bats?" Fiddle backed away from them. "Gnomes! _Gnomes!_ Gnomes aren't real! They're jus' ugly lawn things! But they're real here, what else? We gotta split now, while we can!"

Sighing, Ford rubbed his forehead. "Fiddle, how long you think you can run if'n this is where the answers are?"

"Long as I gotta!"

"Look. We go home now, it's gonna be super suspicious. At least we gotta get proof'a stuff so they know you ain't crazy, ain't hurtin' yerself, and it ain't yer fault. With me so far?"

"How are we gonna get proof?" Fiddle hedged.

"Kodachrome!" Lee grinned. "Oh man, Ford, can I have cam duty, can I?"

"Sorry, Knucklehead. Need yer fists free. I've got cam duty."

Lee rolled his eyes. "Fine, Poindexter, but I want to get at least one good shot'a somethin' weird."

"You got it. Fiddle? We'll take pictures, prove why we came here. You'll be covered, won't hafta go back ta that place." Ford held out a hand. "C'mon, we got this far. Don't back out now."

Fiddleford stared at the hand for awhile, before taking it. "Fine. But I wanna leave a lot sooner than a week."

"Then we best get some answers." Lee turned, heading back into the shack. "Grab our gear, we're goin' hiking."


	6. Twinterruption

" _Now_ can we go home?" Fiddleford screeched as a ten-headed Stanley roared through the brush behind them.

"No way. This is huge, Fiddle. Bigger'n anythin' we thought we was comin' here for!" The real Lee crashed through a patch of questionable looking foliage to catch up, his hair plastered wet against his forehead with sweat, and a giant grin splitting his face. "Shapeshiftin', Ford! You said none'a my comic books was real, but now what!"

"Not now, Lee!" Ford swiped an arm across his forehead. "Why couldn'tya just hold it?"

"How was I supposed ta know there was a shapeshifter nest behind the tree?" Lee demanded. "Natured called an' there's trees everywhere! I just picked one!"

"I dun wanna die!" Fiddle scrambled on ahead. "I never got ta make half the stuff I thought up! It's not fair!"

"Fiddle!" Ford reached out a second too late. Fiddle tumbled over a dropoff. Glancing over his shoulder, Ford saw the heads on the shapesifter multiplying and growing rather jagged looking mouth spikes.

"Fiddle's got it right!" Lee declared, throwing himself after Fiddle. Groaning, Ford followed, crashing through a pair of pines and tumbling down an embankment. He lay at the bottom, dazed and dizzied from the rolling fall. His left arm throbbed somewhere in the background, or had he left the arm behind somewhere?

Before his senses could untangle, Lee seized Ford's definitely-throbbing-arm and dragged him by it. Ford clamped his teeth into his free hand to keep from screaming as Lee grabbed another nearby lump by the shirt and dragged it too. Within seconds, Ford found himself crammed under some gnarled old tree roots, with an unconscious Fiddle shoved in close.

That arm was on fire now, but he kept biting his hand. Better a broken arm than being found by an angry shapeshifter.

"No room," Lee grunted. "Don't move, I'll be back."

Ford felt the first stirrings of panic, grunting at his twin and reaching as if to pull him down too.

"No room!" Lee insisted. "Stay put. I'll be fine. Promise." And he was gone.

A few minutes later, something came snuffling by the hole, and Ford held his breath, trying to pretend he was a child-sized granite stone the roots had grown over and around, something that had always been there and always would be. Fiddle was still out cold and had less trouble pretending such things.

Eventually, the snuffling whuffled off elsewhere, and all Ford could hear was the blood rushing in his ears. His arm hurt bad, and now so did his hand. He gingerly pulled his hand away from his mouth. His hand was bleeding now, and his arm was puffing up bad, and his twin wasn't there.

Lee was _always_ there. There wasn't a Ford without a Lee, and no Lee without a Ford. That's just how it was. Why wasn't he there? Ford knew exactly why Lee wasn't there, but all the reasons were getting drowned out by a very frightened sob building in his gut. He tried to tell himself Lee was nearby, hiding but himself wasn't listening. If Lee didn't show up soon, he'd bust out screaming and there'd be nothing to stop him, not even a bitten off hand.

Ragged panting approached the tree, and he released his breath, all the knotted up bits inside falling apart to looseness so fast his breath hitched.

"Ford, you better not have moved. You still here?"

Ford managed a grunt, clearing his throat.

"Good. Think I lost the thing. C'mon, let's get you outta here." He hauled Fiddle out of the hole, laying him out on the ground, and reached in.

Ford yelped as Lee touched his arm. "Don't! Its broke!"

Lee's hand froze. "Ford… it's broke… an' you didn't say nuttin' when I grabbed it?"

Ford's voice was coming out a lot more crybabyish than he wanted. "We had ta get away."

"And yer s'posed ta be the smart one." Lee reached further, pulling on Ford's other shoulder and grabbing a fistful of shirt material at his side to drag him out. "If'n I hurt you, you say somethin', dunderhead. Even if it's a squawk. I prolly made it worse. Let's look."

Ford didn't want to look. He was starting to think maybe Fiddle was right, maybe they had to go home. Gnomes were one thing, but this was something else completely. And if he really stopped and thought about it, they were trying to find something that could reach out all the way from this place across the country and burn his friend. What were they going to do when they found it, ask it politely to stop?

"What're we doin' here, Lee?" He shuddered as Lee ripped up an extra shirt from his pack and tied it around Ford's neck, gingerly resting the broken arm in the makeshift sling. "We're ten. We're 'cross the country from our folks. We're bein' chased by monsters, some of 'em want a wish, some of 'em want a meal. It's too big. If'n we go back, Fiddle could get put back in the bad place. But if'n we don't, we could all die. I don' wanna die, Lee."

"Yer not gonna die." Lee tied the sling off firmly, then turned to wrap stray scraps of the shirt around Ford's other hand. "Yer gonna think us a solution. You've got the brains, always have. An' I'll make sure we get there safe. That's what I'm fer. Between you an' me, we always been able ta get 'most anythin' done. This is the biggest one yet, but we ain't beat. And we ain't _gonna_ be beat by this. Hear me?"

Ford bit his lip. His arm still hurt like it was being stabbed by glass-beaked gulls, and it was hard to think straight, but his brother had never steered him wrong. "Just one thing, Lee."

"What? What is it?"

"Ya gotta promise me somethin'."

"Sure, anything."  
"Don't ever run off an' leave me alone again. Can't take it. Promise me."

Lee stared at him for a good long while, before pulling Ford into a ginger hug, taking care with the arm. "Promise. Won't happen ever again."


	7. Trepid Explorers

Ford tried to keep his wheezing inside but his lungs wouldn't hold it in. Bad enough Lee had to half carry Fiddleford, he didn't want his brother feeling sorry for him when he couldn't help. Fiddleford needed it more anyway, he was sorta kinda there upstairs but not totally back yet. Kept crying about a headache and eyes everywhere. Legs looked fine, but couldn't walk a roadside line right if his life depended on it.

Which it kinda did. All their lives were looking to depend on it fast. The sky had darkened considerably in the last hour, and a chill crawled a clammy path up Ford's back. He couldn't explain it, but something was watching him. He knew it like he knew he was watching Lee from behind, struggling to keep Fiddle upright. Something was watching him, too. And somehow, it was a lot scarier than a shapeshifter because it felt patient.

Something knew exactly where they were and it was just waiting. What for? Ford didn't know and he didn't want to find out. What he wanted was to get them all back to the shack, sleep the night, and be by the bus stop first thing tomorrow. If the bus didn't come, he'd swallow his pride and call Ma Pines. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.

Dark and darker still. Lee had said they weren't gonna die and Lee never lied to him. But his arm hurt and he was cold and hungry and so scared he couldn't think straight. Lee needed him to think a way out, and he couldn't. There wasn't a way out. After the sun had gone down, they'd probably stopped going straight North and walked themselves in another direction. Any second now they'd pass something they'd passed before and Ford would lose his mind-

Compass! Compass, of course! Ford stopped and slung his pack off, biting off a cry. "Lee, hold up. Need to find my compass, get us outta here."

"Knew you'd think'a something!" Lee shifted Fiddle's arm over his neck.

Shuffling past comic books and mashed up peanut butter jelly breadlumps, Ford's fingers snagged up the cold metal circle he was looking for. "Got it. Shine yer flasher over here." He held it up in his uninjured hand, waiting for his brother's flashlight to illuminate their route home.

It was a cheap prize from a Sugarblasters cereal box. He'd made Ford eat out all the cereal they had three times so he could mail in for it. But even so, it hadn't failed once after Ford recalibrated it the first time.

But now the needle spun in circles, first pointing dead ahead then swinging ninety degrees before doubling back and pointing behind. It jumped to every point like a lost hound, and Ford's good hand shook.

"Lee. Compass gotta be broke. Won't point true."

Ford watched his brother's face fall down, then pick itself back up in a tight smile. "S'okay, Poindexter. Keep thinkin'. We'll jus' keep on, yeah? Gotta be a way out or a safe spot ta spend the night soon. Pro'lly gotta find a place. Can't run in the dark. Not with him an' you all banged up."

Fiddle rolled his head to the side and vomited a thin stream of bile. Ford swallowed back a sob. Fiddle was getting worse from the knock on his head. How was he going to explain to Mrs. Mcgucket they brought her son back scrambled?

"Okay Ford. Let's find a place."

Fiddle's hand lifted, limp-wristed, pointing vaguely to the right. Ford followed the direction of his finger, and in the beam of Lee's flashlight lay another cave opening.

"We came around again!" Lee groaned, dismayed.

"Nah!" Ford seized the flashlight, taking a few steps closer. "This'n has a coupl'a pine trees at the mouth. T'other one had nuttin growin' by it. Think we got a place til the sun come up." He paused. "But lemme check it. Don't wanna wake a bear."

"Or any other creepers," Lee muttered. "Think we're at our limit on weird today. Check it, but you holler if'n you see anythin'. An' don't you even try fightin' with that arm! Just run."

"Yes Ma," Ford muttered, willing steadiness into his voice. His shoes sank into a soft layer, and a quick sweep with the flashlight confirmed huge drifts of dead leaves so dried up they barely crunched under his shoe, disintegrating to powder right away. They didn't look thrown around or shuffled through. In fact, they looked like they'd been there a real long time. The cave stretched into a tunnel that ran back farther than his flashlight beam reached, and he couldn't be sure it was really clear 'till he'd really checked the whole thing.

" 'Ey Knucklehead. Gonna check a little more. Front's clear, but stick close."

"Don't go too far," Lee warned, dragging Fiddle in and setting him down against the damp stone wall. " 'Member, it's you an' Fiddle what's wanted here."

"Roger," Ford braced himself, following the tunnel further back. The walls leaked in spots, coloring darker streaks dripping down the stone walls that sent eerie shivers up his spine. The watching-feeling was awfully strong now, and he wondered if it wouldn't be better to find another cave.

The tunnel flared out quite suddenly, stretching tall and wide to embrace itself in a musty chamber. Several sweeps of the flashlight later, Ford satisfied himself this place hadn't been home sweet home anytime recently. "Hey, Knucklehead!" he called, his voice bouncing up the tunnel to his brother. "Got a good spot back here, get Fiddle!"

"Ten-six," came the echo-reply.

"Four," Ford sighed to himself. "Ten-four, Lee." He set down the pack and thumped to his rear, his arm throbbing in bitter protest at the sudden move. But it wasn't just his arm. It was his legs, his back, even his head. Sitting in a little nowhere cave in the middle of a freakshow forest, Ford hunched over, feeling six times his age. "If'n I ever get outta this, never gonna let myself get this lost 'gain."

"Still there, Poindexter?"

The voice echoed closer, and Ford sat up a little straighter, waving the flashlight around. "Still here. Let's setup camp 'till mornin'. Then we can figure out where we are with the sun. Leastways _that's_ still normal. I hope."

"Sure it is. Sun don't change." Lee dumped Fiddleford next to Ford, then thumped to the ground in front of them.

Ford leaned forward, eyes wide. Fiddle's face was pale, and little sweat beads had popped out all over his face. "Lee, he don't look so good."

"You don't look so good neither," Lee shot back, but his voice was shaky.

"What're we gonna do?"

"Nothin'. Nothin' we can do. Sleep, run like heck in the mornin'." Lee grabbed the flashlight, glancing around their gloomish surroundings. "You're right, Ford. We gotta get outta here. Sooner the bett-" He cut off, his eyes going wide and round as they drifted up over Ford's head.

Ford shut his eyes. Only bad things happened in the movies when someone looked past you like that. Something big and ugly and hungry was behind him, and it was going to gobble him up in one bite. Or maybe lots of little bites to make it last longer.

"Lee. You gotta see this."

His back was to a wall. There couldn't be anything behind him, unless it was up higher. Prying his eyes open, he craned his neck sideways and up to look up the wall.

A crude painting stretched up and across the wall. Lots of little stick people bowing in a circle to a pyramid in the center. Two sticklike arms stuck out from the sides, and in the middle was a big round circle, staring out like a burning flame.

"Lee," he said slowly, "What was it in Fiddles dreams he was shakin' over?"

"Eye," Lee responded real quietlike. "Eye in a brick wall."

"Does that look like an eye in a brick wall?"

"Myep."

"Lee."

"Mhmm?"

"Think we should go."

"Think yer right." Lee grabbed the pack and reached for Fiddle.

Fiddle's eyes snapped open, a sickening grin stretching his face clownishly wide. "What's your hurry, boys? You came all this way to see me. It would be rude to run out so soon. How about a nap first?"

Fiddle's fingers snapped, and the last thing Ford saw was Lee pitching forward facefirst, eyes shut before he hit the ground.


	8. Mindscraped

Ford's eyes snapped open seconds after he hit the ground, but there wasn't a ground to hit. There wasn't even a cave. He lay facefirst in a starry void. A great gilded throne glided past, trailed by a covey of yellow-aged books waddling after it. Middle C did a jig with a gin and tonic before downing the drink and combusting in a glittery shower of piano keys. A Picasso cartwheeled past, juggling the theory of relativity and expounding on its flaws. All this, and his first thought was how he could possibly be laying facefirst in a starry void unless gravity was somehow present, therefore it could not truly be a void.

"Smart kid!" Fiddle-not-Fiddle chirped from behind him. "Welcome to the mindscape. Thought you'd like a view. Sorry I couldn't first-class you over in the first place, but I got my limits right now. Macgyvering a long distance skinmap wasn't my preference, but had enjoyable side effects. Paranoia and neurosis are always fun."

Ford rolled over, tensing against the pain of his broken arm.

But there was no pain. Not even an ache. No sling either, and his shirt wasn't ripped and there wasn't a scratch or patch of dirt to be seen anywhere on his hide. He lifted his hands, wriggling all twelve fingers together before squeezing six shut, then the other six, and opening his hands again. They all worked perfectly.

"You're welcome!" The voice chirped, and Lee finally looked up.

Perched atop a wall-mounted set of antlers minus the wall was a strange, flat yellow triangle with a single eye set in the middle. It bowed itself slightly forward, doffing a little top hat with long, sticklike appendages that neatly mimicked a child's drawing of limbs.

"Name's Bill. And you're Stanford Pines, the man who changes the world. Well," it laughed, swinging down from one of the ten antler points. "We're getting ahead of myself, not a man yet. Here, Sixer." He reached behind his back and pulled out a length of dried, fishy-smelling cord. "Frog intestines. Gift from me to you."

Ford didn't move a whiskerlength. His eyes roamed the space around him, searching for his brother and their friend.

"Oh, don't worry about knucklebrains and scrambled strings." The triangle pulsed as it spoke, shades of yellow alternating with faint oranges and reds. "Stringboy is here." He gestured at the area in front of him, and a section of the void unravelled to reveal Fiddleford, carefully cupped in the folds of the universe. "All tuckered out. Don't worry, he'll be fine. We'll need him later."

Ford's heart ballooned up in his throat, hitting all sides and choking his response. "You're the one givin' out wishes ta get us."

"Wish, Sixer. One wish, and lucky you!" Bill was next to him, and Ford hadn't even blinked. Bill wrapped an arm around Ford's shoulders, his voice pitched and chipper. "You turned yourselves in! You get one wish. Better cash it in now, kid. Whaddaya want? Just say the word, and anything is yours!"

A hyperintelligent shade of the color blue invented a universe and half before realizing it was bored and leaving the half-a-universe to slowly decay. A wave of ants rolled across shag carpet, chewing the fibers down to sharpened spikes as they retreated.

Ford nearly swallowed his tongue. He had to be sure of some things.

"Where's Lee?"

"Roundabouts, not in any trouble."

"Mindscape, what's that?"

"In your heads, kiddo."

A six legged fire tied itself in knots trying to explain how Betty bought a bit of better batter. A young stocking voiced its heartfelt desire to run in the races one day.

Ford looked down at his hands. "So, not real."

Bill eyed Ford's hands. "Nope. That's still broke when you wake up."

"Then fix us!" Ford blurted. "All us, you heal up Lee an' Fiddle an' me. Specially Fiddle's head. An' the drawin'!"

"Oh, hah, that." Bill laughed. "Consider it done. Can't believe you'd think about your brother, though. He's sure not thinking about you."

Ford hugged his arms, glaring shards at the triangle.

"You think I'm lying, don'tcha?" Bill's eye curved up as if he was smiling. "Y'know, you're kinda cute when you're stupid. Lemme enlighten you, Einstein." Stretching out a hand, he peeled back another section of the void, as if drawing back a curtain. Behind it sat Lee. His brother stood in front of a mirror, flexing his arms and making funny faces. He did this at least twice a week, checking to see if he'd gotten any more intimidating, usually slouching away from the mirror in defeat. This time, however, his reflection mirrored a strong young man, possibly in his twenties, flexing back at the ten year old.

Ford lunged forward, but his feet stayed put and he fell flat in the void.

"Hey dumbbell!" Bill floated up behind Lee. "I've got your brother. I think I'm gonna turn him inside out and make his legs come out his ears. How about it? Want to get him back?"

Lee didn't even turn, working his chest muscles and admiring the effect in the mirror.

"You can't do it!" Ford squeaked. "Not possible!"

A little girl on a stool floated by, clutching her skirts and screaming about a spider. Bill lifted his hand and snapped his fingers, and suddenly the spider climbing the stool leg stretched wide and tall. The little girl's legs vanished, and the upper half of her body jammed onto the spider, fusing inseparably. A full-length mirror appeared before her, and she clutched her head, screaming.

"It's a mindscape! You said it!" Ford shouted. "You can prolly make anythin' happen here and it ain't real! That's prolly not even Lee!"

Bill chuckled. "Smart for a young Pinetree. But I don't need you to believe me. Thanks for coming though." He rubbed his hands gleefully. "Only had enough realworld juice for one wish and a few parlor tricks. Now you're close enough to the Bleed, time for real fun."

"What real fun?" Ford took a step back.

"Oh, nothing much. Just a few of these-" he picked up the image of Lee goofing off, popping it down to a hand-sized photo. With a flip of his hand, one photo had become a thousand. There was Lee, laughing at the new books he'd bring in. There was Lee, peeking over his shoulder on every test for the answers Ford worked hard for. There was Lee, doing nothing with his life but draining Ford of his. "-planted around your subconscious should do the trick. Can't have him hanging around."

"I know what you're doing!" Ford shouted. "I'll know it's not real! Lee's always there fer me! He's always got my back!"

And then Bill was huge, the size of two tall buildings and leaning over him, the eye so big it looked fit to swallow him up in its desperately black pupil. "You talk brave, kid, and I like you, but you gotta ask yourself one thing. If your brother's always there for you, where is he now?"

Ford's limbs all locked up. A faint echo sounded in his ears.

_"Ya gotta promise me somethin'."_

_"Sure, anything."_

_"Don't ever run off an' leave me alone again. Can't take it. Promise me."_

_"Promise. Won't happen ever again."_

"Sound familiar?" Bill shrank down again, shrugging. "Don't worry, Sixer. He ditched you, and he'll get what's coming."

A tremble crawled under Ford's skin, and he couldn't think of anything but Lee screaming in agony.

"Nah, nothin' like that. But someday, he'll be in _your_ shadow. And you're gonna like it. I'll even help." Bill wound his arm back and sent the photos flying. They spread out, winging like crazed hornets into the void, heading in all directions at once.

Bill hovered over Fiddle, sunk in up to his elbows in Fiddle's forehead.

"What're you doin'?!" Ford screamed. "Layoff!"

"Relax. I just gotta hide a few things here, nobody'll notice. You're gonna need it later. Remember this number. Nine-eight-five-six-five-five-two-five-zero-zero." The numbers marched out from various bricks on Bill, following the flying photographs. "You'll need someone to build a machine. This guy will have the blueprints you need. Or, now he will."

Ford clutched his face, his knees slamming together and his lungs hammering to get out. Or was that his heart? Maybe his heart was heaving for air. He couldn't tell anymore. He needed Lee. Lee had to come beat this thing up, make it go away.

Bill was over him now, and nothing moved right. "He ain't coming, Sixer. And he'll never be there for you when you really need it. Learn this real fast and you'll be better off." Bill raised his hands, and Ford swore his heart stopped. "You only got you to rely on. Sweet dreams, and remember, you always got a home in Gravity Falls."

…..

Lee pounded his fists against the nothing that separated him from Ford in the void. It felt like wall but didn't even have the shine of glass to show itself. Everything came through crystal clear soundwise to him, but Ford never turned once to his screams, so it had to be one way.

His throat hurt, his eyes burned, his arms throbbed from beating the nothingwall. He couldn't stop, that thing had its hands in his brother's head and was twisting stuff all around.

"Shame, isn't it?"

Lee didn't turn around. He wasn't going to bother with the stupid triangle. He had to break through to his brother.

"All that muscle and not enough brains to be any kind of useful. Shame, that kind of teamwork would have been nice if you had the same smarts."

Lee kept pounding his fists, gritting his teeth.

"Bet it doesn't feel so good getting looked down on, while your brother gets all the praise. Bet it feels bad being the dumb one."

Finally, Lee turned on Bill, clenching his fists.

Bill raised his hands. "Don't get me wrong. You got muscle to make up for it. But what good is it," and Bill leaned forward, flashing blood red, "When you'll never be able to save him?"

Lee took a step back, his heel hitting the nothingwall as Bill's voice deepened, the red falling off in slick drops into the dizzying void. "Your brother's the lucky brain that's gonna help me bring the biggest party the world's ever seen, with me as top DJ forever. It will never stop, it can't be prevented, and there's nothing you can do to protect him, or anyone else. All that strength for _nothing._ "

The words left Bill's pupil, shrieking out into the void and copying themselves over and over, sinking burning brands into every fold they could find.

"Stop it!" Lee shrieked. "Get out!"

"Happy to. Just one more thing." Bill reached for him. "Can't have you remember this. He's gotta think it's his idea when he comes back. Hold still and stop wriggling. It doesn't hurt. Much."


	9. Fourshadowing

Someone was shouting and someone was crying and something was hot and itchy and wrapped up all neat and restricty around Ford. He kept his eyes shut, listening. Mrs. Fiddleford's gratey screech-and-sob she did when she was real wound up. Radios squawking. Pa Pines' gruff word or two, clipped off at the ends and given sparingly. Chop-chop-chop of copter blades overhead. Fiddleford's nerve-squeaking whine.

The inside of his head felt funny, like someone let loose a goldfish just learning to swim around the folds of his brain, flopping and wriggling every whichway. No, not just one, a dozen. The sliminess of it set his stomach roiling and he groaned.

Something shifted next to him. He cracked one eye to the sight of Ma Pines hunched uncomfortably close in the back part of a car full of more blinky lights and tubes and wires than he could skip a stone at. Lee lay next to him, eyes shut, mouth hung open.

"Quit sawin' logs, kid. Better open both and face the music, you've got a lotta explainin' to do."

Anxiety sank its claws in his belly. "How'd you find us?" He was shocked by the sound of his voice, raspier than a sandstorm in the Sahara.

"Had a dream," she mumbled, checking the compartments around her.

Ford went still. Ma Pines was only a cheat psychic and everyone knew it. The only kind of dreams she had were along the lines of Marylin Monroe and Dolly Parton getting in a catfight, and she didn't do more than laugh at them. She never talked about her dreams with the somebody-just-died-tone of voice she had now.

She found a water bottle and opened it up, putting the edge to his mouth. "Dreamed you two was just bones in a cave somewhere, gettin' gnawed on by badgers an' squirrels. Bones were layin' on a stretched out skin with a map drawn on it. Map of the country."

Ford swallowed. He had a feeling where this dream was headed.

"I wake up screaming. I go grab the flyer to call the number, make sure my kids got to camp fine." She leveled a hard stare at him. " _'No such number'_ twenty times in a row does somethin' to a Ma's head, kid. So." She straightened her back. "I go to yer room, and what do I find? Photos of a skinmap like in my dream. All stuck together in the shape of America."

Ford lifted his head, peering out the back of what he realized was an ambulance. An officer was talking with his Dad a few feet off. He could guess what Ma had done.

Lee hadn't moved. He had to check on Lee. He struggled with the binding blankets.

"Don't move." Ma's tone shocked him still. "Good-for-nothing's fine. Prolly dreamin' about his swindle. He talked you into this, didn't he?"

"I-"

"Did he hurt you? Or that kid? What happened out here? What was that blockhead lookin' fer?"

Ford clutched the blankets, trying to think through the fish flopping. Why were they out in the woods? Something to do with Fiddleford. "Fiddleford…" his eyebrows pulled together as the fish flopped faster and his stomach churned. "Fiddle…"

"Kid's got scars all over. Not big'uns, but bad 'nuff. Was it Stanley? Did your brother have anythin' to do with it?"

"No!" Ford yelped. "Course not, Lee'd never! Look, Ma, we came out here for a camp, I swear!" As the words left his mouth, he blinked. They didn't sound right to him somehow, but at the same time, it was the only thing that made sense. In fact, he and Lee and Fiddle had all spent the night- "Shack! We slept in a shack first night, it was empty. Mebbe it was a scam after all, but we thought it was real, Ma!"

"Cops combed the place five times. Just found tore up sheets, nothin' off you boys 'til they swept the trees and found you knocked out in a cave. No injuries, but yer tellin' me you can't remember anythin'?"

"No, nothin', I swear!"

"Then it mighta been Lee, and you wouldn't'a known."

Ford hesitated. Lee hadn't been so great to be around lately. Things were changing. It was obvious Ford was getting smarter and Lee didn't care to try. Had he tried to pull something?

No. Of course not. Lee was dumb, but he had Ford's back. Always.

Right?

"This is serious, Stanford. If it ain't you, well… McGucket's kid pulled this before."

"No!" Ford pushed himself up on both arms, panicked. "They can't send him back!"

"It was me, Ma." Lee rolled over and sat up, keeping his eyes on the blankets. "I told Fiddle not ta tell. But there was this doctor we heard about who could fix him up, so I made 'em come with me. Doc fixed him up an' took all the money, but we got lost on the way back."

Ford blinked, dumbfounded. Lee hadn't burned Fiddle, that much he knew!

Or… the fish were swimming something terrible. He lay back down with a moan, clutching his stomach. Why couldn't he think right? He just wanted to go home. Lee could figure this one out himself for a change.

"I'm sorry, Ma," Lee hung his head. "Knew I done wrong, tried ta fix it."

"Well kid, yer Pa's gonna fix yer hides fer sure. Better rest up." She climbed awkwardly out the back of the ambulance. " 'Cause I got second dibs on yer hides when he's done. Gotta talk to his Ma. Kid's so shaken up he can barely talk. Wouldn't be surprised if the folks packed him up and left. We'll be lucky if they don't press charges."

….

Lee turned to Ford. His eyes weren't working right and his head was about to throw up a brain any second. It wasn't like Lee to be all quiet when he was in hot water, and he couldn't help feeling the sting.

"Hey. Poindexter. What gives? Whaddaya mean you can't remember?"

"I just can't." The reply was in the same clipped off tone his Dad was shooting off at the cops.

"Well I can't neither, but I don't wanna get skinned by Pa!" He whispered fiercely, "So how's about you help me come up with somethin' more reasonable than throwin' me under the bus."

"You did that all by yerself."

Lee's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, so our friend don't go back to the nuthouse. Ford, what's yer problem? We're in a bind, think us out!"

"Just leave me alone!" Ford rolled over, turning his back on Lee. "Please. Just. Shut up."

Shut up? _Shut up?_ That wasn't joking Ford, or even concentrated Ford. It wasn't like Ford at all. He was really going to let them get hided over this?

Well, fine. That was just fine. It didn't matter. Lee could take it. Heck, and he straightened his shoulders at the thought. He'd convince his parents it was _all_ his fault and _all_ his idea and take _all_ the hiding. Maybe that would make Ford sorry for hanging him out to dry. He'd see. Lee would always have his brother's back, whether he liked it or not.

….

Deep in a moldy old forgotten cave, down tunnels with freshly disturbed leaves, lay an enormous chamber. An ages old painting had been put there as a warning to all that a terrible demon had been banished on this spot. One that must never be called on.

At the foot of the painting lay a battered Kodachrome camera, kicked aside and nestled in the leaves. Slowly, the back of the camera swung open, exposing the film inside. The dim cavern light distorted the images of a ten headed child. An angry little gnome. And a boy with bright yellow eyes, flashing a grin far too wide for his face.

"Hey Diddle Diddle, the Fords and the Fiddle. The cow jumped over the moon."

A contented whisper slithered along the ceiling and down the walls of the chamber, announcing itself to everyone and no one at once.

"And now, we wait."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of my first ever commissioned fanfiction. Thank you to my lovely patron, you know who you are! The request was a story about the Stan Twins and Young Fiddleford as children together, and the rest was left up to me. So I decided, what the heck. Why not set up for the events of "A Tale of Two Stans"? This was a great deal of fun and allowed me to toy with a new style. My thanks to the admin of the Rise and Fall of Nickelodian page for letting me bounce the last chapter off him and brainstorming to improve a few parts.


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